


Like a Stab to the Heart

by StandingInTheSnow (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (OC) Mental Institution, Anxiety, Depression, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is mean but trying to watch out for Stiles, Everyone leaves Stiles out, He's just bad at it, I suck at writing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Multi, NOT Eichen house, Nightmares, Nogitsune, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Scott, Panic Attacks, Promise, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Self Harm, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Swearing, mention of self harm, that gay shit will be later, this is cliche as fuck, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6909652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/StandingInTheSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started when the pack and his father would flinch when he moved to quick, or how conversation would die when he entered the loft on pack nights. Stiles knew things would never be the same after the Nogitsune, but every time his father doesn't make eye contact, or when his friends stop talking to him, it hurts, like a vice closing down tight on his heart. He understands, but it still hurts. </p><p>Even Derek, who he had grown closer to before the whole mess, had quite trying to make contact with Stiles. Not that there was much communication before, but now, it was nothing. Just radio static ringing in his ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Am A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Man, what should I say? Uh, well, first Teen Wolf work, EVER, so uh, be nice please? POV will switch between Stiles and Derek, but will be mainly Stiles. I'll try to update every few days, but i got bills to pay too so work may get in the way. 
> 
> EDIT: I now have an awesome, wonderful Beta, and thanks to them, I am redoing my chapters and fixing them to make them a little more consistent.

_I can't be seen, I can't be touched. When you see me you can't have me forever. I can give you anything you want, but when I'm gone everything is normal again. What am I?_

* * *

 

 

When Melissa went to take his pulse and he raised his hand too fast, it was like a slap in the face. It was the way she flinched, expecting pain. It made his throat constrict, but he raised his hand slower, ignoring it for the moment. 

 

It got worse when the pack and his father would flinch when he moved into the room, or how conversation would die when he entered the loft on pack nights. Stiles knew things would never be the same after the Nogitsune, but every time his father didn't make eye contact, or when his friends stop talking to him, it hurts, like a vice closing down tight on his heart. He understands, but it still hurts. Even Derek, who he had grown closer to before the whole mess, had quit trying to make contact with Stiles. Not that there was much communication before, but now, it was nothing. Just radio static ringing in his ears. 

 

At the time there were many more things to be worried about, but a month had passed since everything had ended. The Nogitsune was gone, Allison's funeral and wake long over. Stiles had been keeping a small glimmer of hope alive in his chest, hoping that they would forgive him for what had happened, but as time passed, it became more and more obvious that wasn't going to be happening. 

 

At first Stiles hadn't minded. He understood, everyone needed to grieve for Allison, but he had hoped that they would at least look at him. But no, they couldn't even do that. 

 

Maybe the hardest part was that his father was pulling in all the overtime he could after everything quieted down, much to Stiles suspect that it was so he didn't have to be near the teenager that had killed so many others. Stiles spent so much of his time now parked along the edge of the preserve, sitting in Roscoe on his own. Like tonight, the sky was clear with a full moon and bright stars, nearly 1 am on an Early Saturday morning. Stiles sat on the hood of Roscoe before checking the screen on his phone. The battery was full and not a single text or call beside a note in the calendar saying his dad was working a split that night and wouldn't be home till dawn. 

 

If he were to even glance into a mirror, Stiles knew the thing that would gaze back was thin, sickly looking, dark half moons under his sullen, glassy eyes. He was tired, had no appetite more often then not, and he only got a few hours a sleep every four or five days, the Adderall not helping with how jumpy he was. Stiles knew where everyone was. The Pack was more then likely laughing and having a great time at the loft, probably watching The Notebook, again.

 

 Stiles drew his now-baggy red hoodie closer to his thin frame, the breeze picking up and biting through his layers of clothing. That was another thing. It didn't seem to matter how bundled he was, he was always cold to the touch, numb almost. 

 

Stiles turned his head sharply as he heard a wolf's howl in the not-so-far-off distance. The Pack must have been going out for a run together, which was his que to leave. He didn't want to have them stumble onto him being a lonely freak. 

 

Stiles slid ~~e~~ down the side of the hood, knees and the balls of his feet aching as he hit the ground. Stiles was about to climb into the drivers side when he heard gravel crunch behind him. Stiles froze, holding his breath for a few seconds before very slowly turning around to see Derek, with that perfect scowl on his face, with Issac beside him to his right. The Alpha looked angry, eyes molten red and bright in the night with his broad and strong chest out in dominance and authority. 

 

"Stiles, what the fuck are you doing out here?" Derek was barely able to cover the growl in his voice, though Stiles knew it was there. The gangly, pale teen shrunk in on himself more then he had been before, looking down at his shoes. 

 

"Sorry, 'was just leavin'." Stiles mumbled, though he knew Derek would hear him anyway. The loud growl that rumbled from Derek froze him again in place, one hand on the jeep's door handle. 

 

"Stay out of the woods from now on, you know it isn't safe. And see a doctor or something, you smell like death." Derek grunted, voice a heavy timbre. Gravel crunched under his boots in long strides to disappear into the trees again. Issac threw a glare over his shoulder, Beta eyes glowing vibrant yellow before following the Alpha. 

 

Stiles felt his eyes sting with the threat of tears once his brain caught up to what had just happened. Stiles swore and rubbed his eyes furiously with the heels of his palms before getting into the jeep and starting the engine quickly. He sat there a moment, drained and empty. It was blatant, obvious to the point of being almost painful. He wasn't wanted, not by his friends, his Pack, or by his own dad. Stiles frowned heavily and put the jeep in reverse, backing up and speeding home quickly. If that was how it was, then what was the point?

 

Stiles made it home in record time, all in a haze of emotional turmoil and pain. By the time he got home, he couldn't feel his hands anymore, knuckles gripped white on the steering wheel. After dislodging his freezing fingers from the steering wheel's leather, Stiles made his slow way up to the front door, unlocked it, locked it behind him then went upstairs. His room was barren almost, only furniture remained with text books, backpack, alarm clock, laptop and phone charger. It hadn't been the same after the nightmare of having a evil fox demon roaming his head, his personal belongings seeming trivial and annoying once he had gotten home. Posters, novels, knickknacks, personal belongings, such as photos of his mom and him from ages ago, **were** all packed into boxes in the attic now. 

 

Stiles carefully took off his shoes, tucking them into the closet and stripped down to his tee and boxers, crawling into bed. He wouldn't sleep, he had drank a pot of coffee before leaving for the preserve a few hours ago. The teen stared at his wall blankly, thinking about how Derek had treated him. Stiles made a small whine in the back of his throat just thinking about it. He had just been about to leave when Derek showed up with his angel faced Beta. And what was with the comment on him smelling like death? It made no sense, Stiles was fine, he wasn't going to die or anything stupid like that, although it did sound tempting after the way Scott and everyone had been treating him. 

  

Stiles rubbed a hand over his shoulder, nails digging in a bit too roughly, his mind else where as red and sticky blood pooled under his fingers and slid down his collar bone. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, this is what he deserved, to be shunned and left out, kicked from the Pack. His nails dug in harder, cutting open his own skin without a care. His thoughts were focused on how angry Derek had looked, how annoyed and frustrated he seemed to be. It made Stiles' chest ache, knowing that now there was no way in hell he would be loved by them, especially Derek. 

 

Stiles stared at the wall until glowing red digits read 5:43 am (he watched the clock for the last hour and a half), when his father got home. He heard the tired shuffle of heavy boots, the sound of keys being dropped on the counter before the Sheriff made his way slowly up the stairs and to bed, not bothering to look in the door to see if Stiles was home. 

 

Stiles let the tears come, let them roll down his sickly pale cheeks, eyes unfocused. This was what it was now. Mean looks, comments, and being ignored. Stiles would either grow to live with it, or die from the pain. With that thought, Stiles faded off to sleep for an hour, being pulled down into nightmares. 

 

It was flashes of dirty gauze and sharp teeth, wounds biting into his skin all over and dark words being rumbled in his ear. A gentle hand touched his hair. "We hurt all around us." was gruffly snarled in his ear. Strong fingers wound into his hair and yanked sharply, in the dream his neck snapping, and he woke up screaming, his nails digging into his thighs so hard there were bloody tracks under his hands on thin skin. Stiles was shaking and panting, a total mess in his bed. After catching his breath, he glanced at his clock.  A blinking 7:03 am stared back, but the sun was up already. Since the Nogitsune, Stiles had started taking time seriously. It had made him realize that no one had forever. Especially Stiles.    

 

 


	2. An Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh. Special thanks again to my Beta!

_What do you throw out when you want to use it, but take in when you don't want to use it?_

* * *

 

 

Stiles got up and took a cold shower, washing away blood from wounds he didn't remember getting. Once dried off, he bandaged himself up and sighed, looking at his sink absentmindedly as he put the last bandage on his thigh. He had taken off the mirror a while ago, the wall above the sink now bare. After relieving himself and brushing his teeth, as if on autopilot, he got dressed in dark jeans and a thick, light gray hoodie. It made Stiles look like he hadn't lost so much weight, made him look a bit more bulky then he really was. 

 

Almost 8, he slowly made his way to the stairs and down to the kitchen, making coffee, a big, fresh pot. He knew his dad had another couple of hours at the house as he had until 2 pm to be back at the station, so the Sheriff would be sleeping for a while still. For Stiles, that meant there was time to think, which never ended well. He pulled on boots before grabbing the jeep's keys, slipping out the front door. He had a werewolf to talk to. 

 

 

~

 

 

Derek stood at his stove, scrambling eggs in nothing but sweatpants, when he heard what sounded like lazy feet treading up the stairs to the loft. With a slight turn of his face, he could smell the person's scent now. The warm smell of honey and lilac, of Stiles, floated in under the door. Derek frowned. Stiles hadn't been to any pack meetings in the past two weeks, not that the Alpha had bothered texting him about it. He had figured the teen just needed space after...everything. So it was a surprise to smell Stiles on the other side of the door, heart rate rabbiting out of his chest. 

 

 

Derek rolled his eyes and set his spatula aside. 

 

 

With a sure stride, he walked to the door and pushed it aside, muscles flexing with the weight of the door. His nose wrinkled as he smelt the underlying scent of sour fruit beneath the smell of flowers and honey, the scent of illness. He glared down at Stiles, seeing the thin teen trying to hide in that overly large hoodie. Since when had Stiles' clothes been that baggy on him? The kid looked tired, thin, and just sick all around. Derek glowered down at Stiles. 

 

 

"What are you doing here? Don't most teenagers sleep in on Saturdays?" He furrowed his brows, frown deepening. Stiles shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he bunched the sleeves of the hoodie in his hands. 

 

 

"I wanted to ask you something quick, then I'll leave you alone, pinkie promise," He joked, though it lacked its humorous charm, sounding flat and monotone. Stiles looked down nervously. "Listen, I wanted to just say I get it. I get why the Pack is not talking to me anymore, so don't worry. I won't bother you guys anymore." 

 

Stiles was walking away already, eyes aching again, throat losing from the overwhelming emotions. Derek could smell the anxiety and the bitter smell of fear ferment the air, covering the smell of honey and lilac. He had listened to Stiles speak, although by the end of the little speech, Derek was so shocked, it felt like he had been rooted to the spot and the moment was stopped in time, all he could do was watch as Stiles swiftly retreated back down the stairs, the smell of salty tears reaching his nose. By the time Derek could move again, the shock wearing off, Stiles was already gone. His anchor was gone. 

 

 

~

 

 

After driving for what felt like hours, Stiles pulled up to the Preserve and parked, tears streaking down his pale cheeks. He knew Derek had told him to stay out, but he needed the comfort that the trees and fresh air gave him. Plus the possible high ledge he could jump off of in case he decided today was the day. And all things considered, that was a likely thing.  

 

 

Stiles walked for a while, morning sun bright, a few clouds in the sky. The gangly teen had stopped at a clearing and sat in the shade, trying to calm his breath. He picked up a leaf from the dirt beside him and looked it over, knees drawn to his chest. Stiles flinched as the breeze blew lightly, hearing a whisper on the air. Swallowing thickly, Stiles felt a spike of panic bubble in his chest as he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. Something was wrong. Stiles began counting his fingers as the feeling of a hand rubbing over his shoulder occurred, a voice purring. "Stiles, Stiles, we will end him,"

 

 

"...3, 4, 5, 6...." Stiles murmured to himself, counting over and over to make sure it wasn't happening again. He needed to be sure. He looked up, seeing the sky had gone from partly cloudy to dark, the clouds pregnant with impending rain. Frantic whiskey colored eyes looked up, taking it all in. The panic in his chest was expanding, like a balloon being blown up for a birthday party for a 6 year old. Stiles let out a choked cry, one hand on his chest as it ached and tried to breathe, the other frantically scratching through the dirt for something to grip.  Logically, Stiles knew he was hyperventilating, but it didn't matter, because the next thing he saw was darkness. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. A Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short and shitty, I have been struggling with my stupid fiance. 
> 
> EDIT: Thank you again, my lovely Beta for all your help!

_I went to the woods and got it, sat down to seek it, brought it home because I could not find it, what was it?_

* * *

 

It was raining, a light drizzle at that point, but still cold and dark out when Stiles groggily opened his eyes. He was soaked completely through, clothes hanging pathetically to his thin limbs. At first, the 17 year old just lay there, trying not to panic. How long had he been gone? Had anyone even noticed his absence? The thought that no one cared enough to ever take notice of the missing teen stung, making his chest tight with emotion. It was a small mercy that allowed him to breathe. Stiles whimpered and curled in on himself, turning from his back onto his side, cheek pressed into the wet and cold grass. 

 

 

The sky was still cloudy, the wind brutally cold. Stiles knew in the back of his head that hypothermia was probably already setting in, the inability to feel his feet and hands being a giveaway. He wasn't shivering however, the small bit of his brain that was still functioning reminding him what that meant for him. Stiles knew that he wouldn't last if he was out here, curled into a pathetic ball in the mud and grass. The predominant thought in his head however, was that he wanted to see Derek once more before he died. Call it a last regret. 

 

 

Stiles mumbled to himself, delirious and tired. "Wann' see 'im, want Der’k," He mumbled and lolled his head to the other side, hearing feet tearing through the trees towards him. He blinked with blurry eyes as he watched a figure break through the underbrush. Stiles groaned out Derek's name before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was out again. 

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

"Deaton, you need to tell me what to do," Derek growled into the cellphone on the verge of fangs dropping from frustration and fear, a limp Stiles in his arms. After having shaken himself out of shock at what Stiles had said, he had changed quickly then followed Stiles' scent as much as possible, but by the time he had found the jeep, it had begun to pour rain, washing away almost all of the teen's scent. 

 

Derek had found Stiles as the rain began to let up, after almost 6 hours of down pouring, passed out and still. Why the kid had picked the literal middle of the Hale woods to pass out in, Derek didn't want to dwell on. After dropping to his knees and tugging Stiles towards his chest, making sure he could hear and feel a heartbeat did he let himself have a sliver of hope that Stiles would be okay. 

 

The werewolf carried Stiles through the trees and over wet grass and mud, trying to make it back to his Camaro as quickly as possible. The vet on the other end of the phone asked what had happened and Derek tried to explain in the simplest way possible without barking through the phone.

 

“He is probably on the verge of hypothermia. You need to get him out of his wet clothes and into something dry and warm. You keep a spare blanket in the Camaro, do you not? You will want to strip him down and get him wrapped up in that, the vehicle’s heat turned on as well.” Deaton said calmly, as if a 17 year old boy wasn’t on the verge of death from the cold.

 

Derek growled, wishing there was more he could down, but snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He had to stop to rearrange the boy in his arms, cradling Stiles to his chest, the teen’s head on his shoulder and thin legs around the Alpha’s hips before running again.

 

“Come on Stiles, stay with me,” He breathed out as he ran. Derek could hear Stiles’ heartbeat, it was weak and slow, hard to hear even with werewolf hearing.

 

Finally, Derek saw the Camaro, parked by the Jeep, and all but ripped the back door off, getting Stiles in the back seat. He fumbled for a moment with buttons before getting frustrated and ripped the clothes apart, throwing them to the floor of the car. For a moment he paused, looking at the bandages patches of skin on Stiles skin. Seek shook his head. He could ask about those later. He growled and fumbled with Stiles’ belt buckle, pulling his soaked jeans off next, as well as his shoes and socks.

 

Stiles was left in his boxer briefs, skin pale and thin, toes, fingers, and lips a fair shade of purple.  Derek swore and grabbed the blanket from the floor, wrapping Stiles up in it and climbed in, pulling him to his chest to share his body heat.  He hadn’t noticed before when he had been carrying Stiles through the woods, but now, as he held Stiles close, he could feel how thin and almost fragile he was. The kid weighed almost nothing, which was normal, but this, this wasn’t healthy. He used to have a lean frame, a bit of muscle with broad shoulders, but now, he was sickly. 

 

Derek could smell it on him, a sickly sweet scent that covered his normal smell of flower and honey. It made a low growl roll out of Derek’s throat, eyes bleeding bright red. It smelled wrong, Stiles smelled wrong. It made Derek’s wolf want to protect the teenager, to fix his problems and keep him safe from everything.

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

Stiles was seeing sharp teeth covered in blood before he stirred from his nightmare, the sound of a growl in his ear making him freeze, breath being held tight in his chest. He may have felt warmer then he had last time he was awake, but he was so, so scared. His vision was a bit blurry but once he could see right, Stiles saw bright red eyes and relaxed a little, leaning back into Derek’s chest.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but as soon as his head was back on Derek’s shoulder, he began to sob, the emotions of the past month hitting him like a truck.

 

Fear, regret, thankfulness, anger, sadness, ~~so many motions~~ , all too much to process after so much had happened to the boy. Stiles cried hard, hands shaking and moving to cover his face in shame. He didn’t want to be seen like this, especially by Derek, by the man he was in love with.

 

Soon enough he had calmed his sobs into small hiccups and whimpers, buried in the soft blanket and Derek’s chest. With a broken and small voice, Stiles apologized to the werewolf.

 

“I’m sorry Derek.” He said, eyes looking down at his hands, balled in the blanket around him.

 

“Sorry?" Derek frowned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "For what?”

 Stiles swallowed hard.

 

“For you coming and finding me like that,” He hiccuped. He was so ashamed, to have Derek find him so weak and vulnerable. It made his throat tight. Derek simply shook his head and moved Stiles off his lap and into the seat beside him.

 

“Stiles buckle up. I’m taking you home. You could have died out there. If I ever find out that you were in the woods again, I will personally rip your throat out.” He growled roughly, eye red from anger and frustration.  He closed the backseat door and moved to the driver seat, sliding in and starting the engine, listening to it purr. The drive back to the Stilinski’s home was quiet, almost deafeningly so.

 


End file.
